


кошка

by nightwideopen



Category: Marvel, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Animal Transformation, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Compliant, Cat Louis, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Magical Realism, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Nightmares, POV Animal, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Captain America: Civil War, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-13 07:39:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16888383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwideopen/pseuds/nightwideopen
Summary: Bucky Barnes gets a cat.





	кошка

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! 
> 
> Wow! Okay. As you all know Louis and Bucky are my loves and my boys and finally putting them in the same world has been both a joy and an immense challenge. Not only do I have a lot [to live up to](https://archiveofourown.org/series/960108) but there's something about writing from the POV of a cat that can't provide verbal comfort that was weirdly hard. But! I'm so excited to share this with you all and I hope you all enjoy this little exploration of Bucky and his devil cat. ALSO. A special little treat for me while I was writing this was BUCKY ACTUALLY GETTING A CAT. I hope you've all read Winter Soldier #1 and got a little glimpse of Bucky and Alpine. Bucky is a cat person! I'm here to attest to that.
> 
> Thank you so much as always to Steph for creating Lucky and for always being so supportive. Thank you for reading this over and for being so enthusiastic every time and pointing out the little details that I thought would go unnoticed. Thank you to Jamila for being a great beta as well and for putting together this lovely little fest. Thanks to Justine as well for that!!!
> 
> The title is Russian for cat. Koshka.

_Washington D.C., summer of 2014, August_

Dust and debris is the first thing Louis remembers. It’s the furthest back into his memory that he can go and it seems fitting that he was born amongst destruction. Everything was rubble and panic, Louis cowering beneath a stairwell inside of a building that had been reduced to nothing but a shell of what it used to be. He stayed there for a long time, until he got so hungry that he had to ignore the trembling of his body to step out into the street and find something, anything. 

He doesn’t do too well with sudden loud noises now, and sometimes if he gets too hungry he’ll want to hide away until it stops. Louis thought that hitching a ride to _anywhere but here_ would help get rid of how scary it was to be in the aftermath of whatever tore through the city. He thought it might help with all the bad feelings. And it kind of did, until something terrible happened again that drove him to another hiding place, desperately wondering if _he_ was the cause of all this tragedy. It had to be following him. 

But that was a little while ago now, and they’re fixing up D.C. so that it’s nice again and Louis finally feels somewhat safe enough to leave his hiding space. He’s really hungry now, and it’s around that time of the day where Louis sits in his usual spot waiting for the woman who drops bacon bits from her breakfast sandwich for him. She’s his favorite person right now. The park is fairly empty, the sun only just beginning to rise from behind the Washington Monument. A ladybug is making its way across a blade of grass in front of Louis and he’s going to pounce on it really soon. Really _really_ soon. He’s almost ready. He swishes his tail a few times for good measure. Sometimes he skews a bit to the left but he’s going to get it right this time, he swears. 

But just before he’s about to jump his tail is crushed under the weight of what he can only assume to be an oblivious human.

Louis yowls loudly, startling the human out of his daze. He’s not usually so careless with his tail, but people also don’t usually come this way at this time. Except this man, face obscured by a hoodie, a baseball cap, _and_ long hair. Louis can’t really see what he looks like, and he really wants to swipe at his legs for disturbing his quiet morning. But Louis can see his eyes, confused and wide, and can also see that maybe he doesn’t need an angry, homeless cat swatting at him right now. He looks terribly lost, like he’s seeing the world for the first time and doesn’t know what to make of the sound he just heard. So Louis hops up onto the bench instead, craning his neck in hopes that it’ll get him a scratch on the head as recompense. It does, and it’s nice so he purrs a bit, trying to let this stranger know that he’s not upset about the tail-stomping. He usually holds grudges, but Louis can make an exception. 

The man is tall, really tall, but he crouches down so he’s closer to Louis’ height and lets him sniff his fingers. He smells alright; trustworthy and sweet. He stays perfectly still and lets Louis have his fill.

“I’m… I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says softly. 

The apology sounds awkward and stitled, like he’s saying these words for the first time in a long time. 

_It’s okay_ , Louis says back as best he can.

Then he’s distracted by the smell of food coming from the backpack on the man’s shoulders. Louis uses his arm as a ramp, and it’s sturdy enough that he doesn’t slip. When Louis is perched on his shoulders, he starts nosing into the tiny opening of the bag. He really wants whatever is in there. It’s not bacon, but it’s close.

“What the hell–” 

Suddenly the ground is a lot further away than it was before and Louis is being grabbed around his middle. He tries to dig his claws into the man’s arm to stay put, but Louis only finds purchase on his shirt and gets easily dragged away from the food. This man is too strong; Louis doesn’t like it. He’s _hungry._

The man holds Louis an arm’s length away from his face. He’s studying Louis, looking at him in a way that Louis is sure he’s never been looked at before. It’s calculated, like everything about him is being stored in this man’s brain. And like this Louis can feel that one of his hands is softer than the other underneath his gloves – why is he wearing gloves in the _summer?_ One feels real, soft. The other feels like… like the metal pipe around the corner that Louis finally got himself to crawl out of a few days ago. It’s equal parts comforting and daunting.

Then he sets Louis down on the bench and begins to walk away quickly, hands tucked firmly into his pockets. Louis wont stand for that. He wants the food. But he also kind of wants to know what this man is up to. Maybe he needs a friend. Louis sure does. The other strays that hang out by Louis’ pipe aren’t exactly the friendliest. So Louis chases after him and winds himself around the man’s legs, making him trip. He starts to walk faster, so Louis does too. 

Louis follows him for a while, all the way through the center of the city and out of it. He doesn’t notice Louis again until they arrive at an apartment building. It’s three floors and the door looks as though Louis could push it open with one paw and minimal effort. He makes to weave through the man’s legs and swat at the door, eager to test his theory. When the man whips around, defensive, it startles Louis. He jumps back, ears flat on his head. Louis is prepared to run, but he can see the man’s face change. He goes from a hard look to a confused one, and then his face falls. He moves forward slowly enough that Louis thinks it’s okay again, that he’s not going to hurt him. He crouches down in front of Louis and offers his hand like before. 

He still smells alright, so Louis stays, bumps his head against his fingers.

“My name is Bucky, I think.” He says it as though it’s important that Louis knows this. “Do you want to come with me?”

Louis tries to say _yes_ as best and as emphatically as he can so that Bucky understands, perking his ears up and flicking his tail. It seems to work, because Bucky picks Louis up, tucks him under his arm, and pushes the front door open to head inside. He trusts Bucky somehow, trusts that he’s going to be gentle and kind and is going to feed him something really good.

Bucky's apartment is very small, and there aren’t many things in it, almost as if no one has even been living there at all. There’s nothing but a dusty sofa in a corner that Bucky sets Louis down on, and a tiny closet with one sweatshirt and one pair of pants hanging in it.

Bucky removes his gloves, unzips his hoodie, and rids himself of it. Suddenly the skin of his left arm is reflecting the little light that’s shining from the lamp. Except, it’s not skin at all. He sits down on the bed for a moment and bends down to untie his boots. That’s when Louis takes his chance to investigate Bucky’s unusually shiny arm. He taps it gently, and it’s cold against the pads of his paw. It’s cold against his nose and his tongue, too, and it doesn’t taste _bad_ but it definitely doesn’t taste like bacon. Bucky jumps, presumably at the rough sandpaper feel of Louis’ tongue against his arm. Bucky reaches back down for his shoelaces, so Louis licks him again, just to make sure.

“Hey! Stop that.” Bucky rubs at his arm with his normal hand. “Never seen a metal arm before?”

_No, obviously not,_ Louis wishes he could say. _Never seen anything like you before._ He taps Bucky’s arm with his paw again instead.

“Well you better get used to it if you’re gonna come along. Otherwise you can go back to the park.” He’s finally worked his shoes off, so he stands up and moves to the closet to get redressed in new clothes. “No more licking. Got it?”

Louis doesn’t get it. He’s most definitely going to do it again. Bucky is just going to have to learn that Louis likes to lick. It’s how he shows his affection, and that Bucky is his now.

“Good,” Bucky says, securing his hat back on his head. He grabs his backpack and Louis, who pushes his nose under Bucky’s chin. “We have a plane to catch.”

 

Louis is fairly certain that he’s never been on a plane before, but there’s something vaguely familiar about the pressure that builds in his ears every so often. When it happens, Bucky yawns, so Louis does the same. And it helps until the next time.

The first plane ride is uneventful at best. He spends most of the time tucked into Bucky’s hoodie. His shirt is soft and the strings of his hoodie are close enough to provide entertainment for when Louis inevitably gets bored. The sound of Bucky’s heartbeat lulls Louis to sleep eventually. It’s strong and steady and comforting as only an honest heartbeat can be.

When Louis wakes up, the world outside the tiny window is very different from the one that they left behind. Everything is flatter and brighter. It feels like a breath of fresh air. Louis looks at Bucky, sniffs his face to see if it’ll give any indication to what Bucky is thinking. It doesn’t, but at least he smells nice. He doesn’t smell like horribly potent cologne that sometimes hits Louis’ nostrils in a terrible way, or like the dumpsters that Louis sometimes had to dig for food in. He smells like something Louis can’t describe, but it’s sweet and distinct and Louis swears he won’t ever forget it. Louis licks Bucky’s stubbled cheek. Sandpaper on sandpaper.

“You look like the devil,” Bucky comments, his voice barely a whisper. “Can I call you Lucifer? Lu for short, maybe.”

Louis knows that the tufts of his ears curl up a bit, so he can’t disagree. Besides, Lu sounds close enough to Lou that he supposes it’s alright. He mewls softly. 

“Cool.”

Bucky gives him a sad smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Louis is determined to fix that.

✪

_Los Angeles, fall of 2014, October_

Los Angeles is sunny, so sunny that Louis is sure that his pupils don’t dilate for the entire time that they’re there.

Bucky gets them a small hut on the beach. And by ‘gets,’ Louis means that he very carefully makes sure that no one lives there and efficiently breaks in. He spends a long time checking every inch of it, longer than what’s probably necessary considering that there isn’t any furniture. But Louis waits patiently because he can tell that this is important for Bucky to feel safe. And Louis knows all about the importance of feeling safe, about choosing very carefully the places you’re going to let yourself be vulnerable when don’t have anywhere else to turn to. 

The moment they finally finish settling in, Bucky fills up the bathroom sink with water and leaves the remains of his sandwich on the kitchen counter. 

And then he’s gone. He’s gone for a while and it takes Louis a little while to realize that the water in the sink was left for him. He doesn’t drink it, but he has fun splashing around in it and destroying every stereotype about cats hating water. Louis runs out of ways to entertain himself after he loses interest with the water, and promptly falls asleep.

When Bucky returns, he’s wearing brand new sunglasses and has significantly less hair – on his head and face alike – than what he left with. Louis can immediately tell that Bucky doesn’t like it. 

The moment Bucky steps through the door, he makes a beeline for the bathroom and stares at himself in the mirror above the sink. He’s stands there for a while and Louis is getting kind of hungry again because he ate the whole sandwich before the whole sink fiasco, but Bucky doesn’t seem to hear him whining. In the corner of the mirror, Bucky has stuck a photograph of a soldier that looks a lot like him, even more so now that he’s cut his hair short. He keeps looking back and forth between himself and the photograph, like he’s searching for answers in them. Louis doesn’t know much about the man in the photo, but whoever he is, he definitely isn’t Bucky. 

At least not the Bucky he knows. 

Granted, Louis hasn’t known Bucky for very long, but the man in the photograph is wearing a soft smirk, has light in his eyes and a certain benevolence about him that Bucky’s face doesn’t really emulate. It’s clear from the way he carefully styled his hair that he’s trying to, though. He’s trying to be the man in the photograph and maybe it is Bucky. Some version of him. From a long time ago. 

Bucky just stares and stares, and maybe it’s all the Vitamin D of Los Angeles getting to his head already because his scowl just deepens. Eventually, he dunks his hands in the sink and ruffles his newly short hair until it’s sticking up every which way.

He hunches over the sink, something close to a growl escaping his throat. Then he takes the photograph and tears it in half before shoving it into his pocket. 

Even after just a few hours it’s clear just how much Bucky hates his haircut. He doesn’t feel safe with his  face on display and keeps lifting his shoulders all the way up to his ears. He tries to make up for his lack of hair with his hat, constantly ducking his head, and pulling the blankets up to his nose that night. When Louis curls up on Bucky’s pillow right behind his head, Bucky doesn’t complain or shove him off. He just sleeps.

 

When Bucky startles awake a short time later, his metal arm banging off the wall next to their makeshift bed of blankets, Louis propels out of the bed and into the closet, his heart beating three times as fast as usual. His first instinct is to _hidehidehide_ because loud noises and sudden jolts means something is wrong. Something bad is happening. Bucky isn’t quiet about it either, his gasping breaths turning into soft cries that get louder before they cease. The room falls silent after Bucky gets his breathing under control, but Louis is still shaking and hating the reminder of how he felt when he woke up in the remnants of New York. It’s the same way he felt just a few weeks ago when they sky came crumbling down around him.

“Lu?” Bucky whispers. He clicks his tongue, coos softly and it’s all very enticing but Louis can’t move. He wraps his tail more tightly around himself as Bucky continues to call for him. “Where’d you go? Shit.”

Louis can hear Bucky chuck the blankets aside, and his face appears in front of Louis after a few moments, wild-eyed and apologetic.

“Hey. You can come out, it’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Louis knows this, but the fear rendering his body still doesn’t. 

Bucky reaches his hand into the closet for Louis to sniff – not the metal one – and Louis cowers a bit. The fear that Bucky himself is feeling is palpable and it’s not making Louis feel any better.  

Bucky’s expression crumbles and he drops his hand in defeat, shuffling back to the bed. 

The quiet helps, the soft sounds of Bucky’s breathing creeping into the safety of the closet help the shaking stop. Eventually, Louis’ heart rate returns to normal and he really wants a cuddle. He hopes Bucky isn’t upset with him for being afraid. 

Bucky’s still awake when Louis curls up next to him and tries to get his attention by nosing into his metal arm. 

“Hey.” He scritches behind Louis’ ears and it’s the best thing in the whole world. “I promise I’m not gonna hurt you, okay?”

It’s not Bucky that he’s afraid of. He wishes he could tell him that. But Louis just settles for tucking himself into Bucky’s side, soft pets and the sound of Bucky’s heartbeat lulling him back to sleep. 

 

From what Louis gathers, a lot of time has passed since the last time Bucky was himself. And the Bucky that he’s trying to find again didn’t have a silver metal arm that made them both jump when it twitched unexpectedly. He keeps apologizing for it, and it drives Louis insane. Louis wishes _he_ could apologize, for whatever happened to Bucky that made him as skittish as New York made Louis.

Louis thinks that Los Angeles might’ve seemed to Bucky like a nice enough place to figure out who he used to be, the perpetual summertime giving an illusion of hope. 

So they spend a few days there, until Bucky startles awake in the middle of the night four nights in a row, each night worse than the last. 

After the fourth time, he gets up, gets dressed in new clothes, and retrieves his backpack from under the loose floorboard that he tucked it into upon their arrival. He scoops Louis up, and they’re in a stolen car headed east by the time sun rises on the sixth day.

✪

_São Paolo, winter of 2014, December_

In São Paolo, Bucky’s house hunting finds them an actual apartment building – with an elevator and everything. They stay on the top floor, and Louis has a suspicion that it’s because Bucky likes to have a good view of everything going on. He does his thorough check of the place and Louis sniffs around in solidarity, looking for the best place to curl up for when Bucky inevitably leaves to gather things they’ll need for their stay. A bed would be nice. And some bacon.

But, to Louis’ surprise, Bucky pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and parks himself in a corner, head in his knees. He spends two whole days sulking, ignoring Louis’ whining for food before he snaps out of it and declares cabin fever.

“Gonna go shopping,” he mumbles to himself. He’s gone in an instant without so much as a glance back at Louis and that kind of hurts.

But it ends up okay because a mouse comes out to play a little while after Bucky leaves. It entertains Louis for a long time, the little game of catch and release proving more fun than he expected. He gets bored eventually though, because Bucky is a lot more fun and doesn’t tire out as easily as the mouse. Plus, Bucky has shoelaces. And hoodie strings. And semi-long hair again. It’s all very fun. 

Speak of the devil, Bucky comes tiptoeing into the apartment not long after Louis gives up on the mouse and lets it scamper off to wherever it came from. He sets his bags down after shutting the door and crouches down where he placed them, beckoning Louis over.

“Hey, c’mere.” He sinks his flesh fingers into Louis’ thick fur. They’re shaking, and he doesn’t protest when Louis starts to lick and nip at his wrist. “Did you miss me?”

_Of course I did._

Bucky sits cross legged on the floor in front of the door and lets Louis curl up in the space between his knees as he empties the bags of their contents. First things first, he feeds Louis an entire piece of chicken, and even gives him the bits that fall off his own sandwich. When he’s done, he narrates everything to Louis as he goes through his purchases, even as Louis closes his eyes, lulled by the sound of Bucky’s voice and his full stomach.

“I got us a bed of sorts. Figured we both have had enough roughing it for a lifetime. We’ll have to leave it behind, probably, but it’ll be nice for now.” 

And, “I probably shouldn’t wear so much black in this heat so I got a cream colored hoodie. Won’t stand out too much, but won’t give me heatstroke, if that’s even possible.”

And, “I think these shoes will be better than the boots. More… comfortable? Definitely durable for running, at least.”

“Oh and I got… this.” He takes out two small silver bowls. “You’re gonna have to start eating cat food eventually, but this is mostly so I don’t have to keep filling up the sink before I leave.”

Then, “I got a few notebooks as well. Might help me to sort out stuff I’m dreaming about. Or remembering. Stuff about Hydra that might be useful in taking the whole goddamn organization down once I get my shit together. Plus, it’s not like you know what I’m saying anyway.”

Louis immediately makes it known that he’s awake and listening. He chirps at Bucky, insulted that he’d think Louis can’t understand him. Louis is very much interested, wants to know all about Bucky’s thoughts and his day, what he gets up to when he leaves. He headbutts Bucky in his chest.

“Alright, okay, message received. Do you really know what I’m saying?”

With a flick of his tail and a lick on Bucky’s nose, he hopes it’s obvious that _yes, I know what you’re saying and I love hearing what you have to say, please keep talking your voice is lovely._

Bucky hums, but doesn’t look convinced. “Okay.”

 

As days pass of Bucky halfheartedly regaling Louis with his daily adventures, it becomes clear that he’s not used to talking out loud, at least not in this voice. Louis thinks he might feel awkward about it, doesn’t really believe that Louis understands him. Louis wishes he didn’t feel that way, especially when he’s trying to hash out his thoughts and share his day. But he understands that it’s not something Bucky is comfortable with yet. So Louis does his best to make sure that Bucky knows he’s listening, and that he’s very intrigued. Sometimes it helps, and something clicks with Bucky that makes him jot something down in the brown leather notebook. 

Other times it has the opposite effect, and when Bucky says something particularly specific, usually in a different language, Bucky’s artificial fist clenches mostly involuntarily. His arm whirs angrily and it scares Louis. But he trusts Bucky to not hurt him, so he does his best not to hide when that happens because he doesn’t want Bucky to be upset with himself. 

“This is so stupid.”

Louis shifts warily on the air mattress. Bucky won’t stop squirming and he sounds on edge. He’s tired, Louis can tell, his eyes drifting shut every so often, the bags underneath them purple and angry. And even though he’s been mostly fine without sleep since he gave up on it back in Kansas, it’s clear that the voluntary insomnia to avoid nightmares is catching up to him. He might be stronger than most, but he still needs to rest. 

Something lightly thumps against the window above their heads and while it only makes Louis’ ears twitch in the direction of it, Bucky’s whole body startles, dislodging them both. The air mattress slides across the floor as Bucky falls into the space between it and the wall. He swears loudly, and Louis almost wants to run and hide in the bathroom. But Bucky doesn’t seem dangerous or unaware tonight, just frustrated and exhausted and in dire need of sleep. Louis wishes he could help. 

Bucky clenches both of his fists where they lie next to him. He’s just resigned to where he’s collapsed. Louis peers over the edge of the bed, makes a sound that hopefully registers to Bucky as a question.

“I just want to _sleep_ ,” he growls through his teeth. It’s broken and cracked and veering on the edge of weepy, but Bucky isn’t going to cry. Not tonight. Louis only senses anger on him. “I hate this. I _hate this_.”

Bucky crawls back onto the bed, yanking the covers over his head and taking in a ragged breath. Louis finds an opening in the blanket and wiggles his way underneath it, chasing Bucky’s body heat and hoping he can provide some comfort.

“Lu. Hey, Lu, no.” He lifts the blanket and sets Louis on the pillow near his head. “Not tonight, I don’t wanna hurt you if I accidentally fall asleep. Dunno how much longer I c’n stay awake.” His words are starting to slur with his exhaustion.

Louis doesn’t like it, misses being pressed up against Bucky, but he obeys. He doesn’t want to get hurt either and if he’s judging on the last time – times – Bucky tried to sleep, this isn’t going to be pretty. So he stays on the pillow, presses his cheek to Bucky’s head, and lets himself fall asleep. 

 

Sure enough, Bucky wakes them both with his screaming before the sun has even begun to break the horizon line.

 

After that, Bucky leaves at night just before Louis goes to sleep. He comes back when the sun is rising and Louis is ready to eat. Bucky doesn’t let himself sleep the entire time they’re in São Paolo, but that’s okay because Louis sleeps enough for the both of them. 

✪

_Chicago, winter of 2015, February_

Chicago is cold, too cold and Louis hates it. 

It snows the first night they’re there, the wind rattling the windows even though they’re shut tight. Bucky taped them and everything. It keeps making Louis jump, though, and he’s shaking in Bucky’s arms where they’re huddled underneath the blanket. Bucky managed to fold up the blow-up mattress small enough to fit in his backpack and brought it with them from São Paolo.

“Shh,” Bucky hushes him. “It’s okay. It’s just wind, it’s okay. Shh.” 

It’s hard to believe him when his voice is as shaky as it is. Bucky reaches to pet Louis with his metal hand, the motion stuttering once he realizes which hand it is. But then he touches Louis with it, brushes through his fur. The touch calms them both, Bucky’s exhale stuttering before it evens out, Louis’ body ceasing to tremble. 

“I wasn’t always Bucky,” he whispers. If Louis wasn’t so close he wouldn’t have been able to hear it. “They called me ‘the asset.’ The Winter Soldier. Whatever else bullshit–” He quickly exhales, trying not to let himself get agitated. “I wasn’t Bucky for a long time. I had no idea who I was. I still don’t. I know who I am now, sort of. But I don’t remember much who I used to be. It’s coming back, bit by bit. But I’ll never be him again. Whoever the Captain thinks I am.” Bucky grits his teeth. “Steve.” 

Louis lifts his head. _It’s okay._ He nudges his nose under Bucky’s chin, doesn’t lick him because it’s been a while since he’s shaved, but just tries to let Bucky know that he’s awake and he’s listening and it’s okay.

“He said I was– He said I’m his friend. James…”

Louis can’t do much more than watch as Bucky’s face twists up. His eyes are squeezed shut and a sound escapes him. It’s not until Bucky’s hand on Louis back starts to put too much pressure that Louis moves. He slinks backwards from under Bucky’s hand until his feet hit the mattress and he can slip free. He’s not going to go far, but he knows now that Bucky might hurt him even if he doesn’t mean to, and he’ll hate himself for it.

Bucky opens his eyes, catches Louis escaping. “No, no, hey, come back. I’m sorry. I won’t hurt you.” 

They both know that he doesn’t _want_ to, but he _might._ And Louis knows Bucky won’t force him back, so he keeps his distance as Bucky inevitably falls victim to whatever’s going on his head. It rattles him from the inside out, making his hands shake where they press up against his ears. He doesn’t want to hear whatever he’s hearing, but he can’t help it. 

Louis can’t help it either when his resolve breaks and he steps all over Bucky to fit his head under Bucky’s human hand. Louis’ wet nose only startles him a little bit, and he gently wraps an arm around Louis’ middle in a makeshift hug. As he tucks his head into Bucky’s neck, Louis wishes he could make it stop. He wishes he could take all the bad things out of Bucky’s head, wishes Bucky could remember who he used to be, so he can figure out who he wants to be now. 

“They made me kill people,” Bucky whimpers into Louis’ fur. “They forced me to do it and put me away and then stuck me in that fucking chair so I wouldn’t know any better when I did.”

That doesn’t sound like something that this Bucky would do, that _any_ Bucky would willingly do. Louis wriggles, trying to get closer to Bucky. He’s warm, so warm they couldn’t possibly have called him the Winter Soldier and Louis doesn’t know what to _do_. All he _can_ do is let Bucky hold him he stops shaking. 

Louis wakes up to Bucky lifting him and placing him in the warm spot that he’s just abandoned. It’s still dark, so he couldn’t have been asleep for long. But it looks like Bucky is still dead set on his no-more-trying-to-sleep regimen as he wraps a scarf around his neck and heads out into the storm.

 

Bucky comes through the door the next morning with colorful pieces of paper that he subsequently decorates his notebooks with. 

He sits in the middle of the apartment and talks out loud while he assigns each color a subject. 

He picks up the book he’d already been using and opens it halfway. “Green for Bucky. For anything I remember about who I used to be.” He tapes a photo of the soldier that looks like him to the first page of that section. “The front can just be me now. Who I think I am today. Whoever I think I want to be after…”

“The blue section is for Winter Soldier,” he says as he sticks a blue tab in a fresh book. “For all the terrible shit I inevitably remember about what they made me do.” 

He splits the remaining pages of that notebook in half, sticks a red tab on a page. “Red is for Captain America. The guy I was supposed to kill.” Then he splits _that_ in half until all that’s left is a sliver of pages. “Yellow is for Steve. The idiot that was about to let me kill him.”

Bucky picks up a new notebook after that, sticks a purple tab in the front of it and an orange one in the middle. He doesn’t say what they’re for, but Bucky starts trying to sleep again and every time he has a nightmare, he opens up to the purple tab and writes furiously, hands shaking. 

When the purple section is more than halfway full and the bags under Bucky’s eyes are slightly less prominent, they leave Chicago.

✪

_London, spring of 2015, May_

“Alright, Lu, I think I’ve kept you hidden away long enough,” Bucky says the day after they get to London. He’s cleared out his backpack in record time and hidden all of its contents under a loose floorboard and unceremoniously dragged the air mattress over it. It’s the most careless he’s been with his stuff so far. “You wanna come with me today?” 

Louis absolutely loves the prospect of this. It looks like a beautiful day outside, sun shining and all, which is apparently rare for London. 

_Yes yes yes please_ , Louis tells Bucky. He’s just about to run up Bucky’s arm when Bucky opens his backpack for Louis to jump into. Louis complies easily, fitting himself into the small space and letting his head pop out as Bucky tightens up the sides so he doesn’t fall out. Bucky then hitches the bag onto his back. Louis wets his own nose and then touches it to the exposed skin on the back of Bucky’s neck – he got his hair cut again and the barber had cut it too short – earning a huff of a laugh that makes Louis preen. He loves when Bucky makes happy noises.

They’re just about to leave, Bucky’s hand on the doorknob, when he stops short. He scrambles to take the backpack off, moving so quickly that he nearly upends it and sends Louis tumbling out of it. 

“God, sorry, I’m sorry. Come on, come out.” 

Louis doesn’t get what the big deal is, but he obeys anyway. Bucky runs his fingers through his hair looking tremendously guilty. He crouches down in front of Louis.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped in there. I’m sorry, I didn’t think.”

He holds his hands out until Louis steps in between them so Bucky can scoop him up. He drops Louis onto his shoulders with an expectant look.

“Better?”

Louis settles. Bucky’s shoulders are definitely broad enough and strong enough to keep him from falling. Especially with his impeccable balance, Louis finds it the perfect perch. He succinctly tells Bucky this by head-butting him in the face. 

“Okay,” Bucky says in a rush of breath. “Good. Let’s go.”

As they walk along the Thames, Louis realizes that everyone in London kind of sounds how he does when he talks in his head. He also realizes that walking around with Bucky is very different than flying with Bucky. He’s methodical in the directions that he takes, and he’s fidgety and nervous, turning his head every few minutes and nearly dislodging Louis. He makes sure to avoid the biggest crowds, which Louis used to do too, otherwise he’d get stepped on. He thinks Bucky has a different reason, but it doesn’t matter so long as he feels safe. 

They stop for lunch eventually, Bucky feeding Louis a heavenly combination of sandwich meats and chicken. And when he steals a sip of tea from Bucky’s cup, it’s almost worth burning his tongue. 

Everything in London is tall and wide, and the tube is kind of like flying, except when they emerge in a different part of the city it’s almost more wondrous than just descending on it. Even better is the view from the London Eye. There's something about the city being laid out before him, unmoving and unchanging, not going anywhere. And neither are they, for now. It makes Louis feel incredibly small. 

It makes Bucky complain about how the Wonder Wheel is a million times better. 

Bucky buys cigarettes on the way back, and smokes them out on their apartment’s fire escape as the sun goes down. Louis tries to frown disapprovingly through the glass door. After he’s chain smoked half the pack, Bucky comes back inside, face blank. He’s probably remembered something, and Louis feels bad but Bucky smells terrible, so he just fixes Bucky with a hard stare from across the room. 

When Bucky’s eyes come back into focus, he sits on the edge of the bed.

“They probably can’t kill me anyway.”

After that it becomes a thing he does when he’s feeling particularly antsy about something. Sometimes he smokes them inside, and they both know that he shouldn’t but those are the days he hardly moves and fills up pages in the orange tab of his black notebook. 

They stay in London long enough that Bucky needs yet another haircut.

Louis wakes up to the sound of scissors snipping away in the bathroom, to the sound of Bucky’s frustrated grumbling. When he goes to investigate he finds Bucky in front of the bathroom mirror, surrounded by a pile of his own hair, scissors in hand. His hair is all uneven, wavy and tangled, half dry like he got out of the shower and meant to cut it right away but sat there for a long time. It’s too long in the back and endearingly lopsided but it’s honestly not so bad that it’s noticeable.

He doesn’t have a nightmare that night, and they’re at Heathrow the next morning. 

✪

_Paris, summer of 2015, August_

They’re in Paris when it happens. 

When they get there it’s days of croissant bits and nights of seeing the sights. They’ve never properly toured a city before, but Bucky seems adamant on visiting the Eiffel Tower and Montmartre. It must’ve been one of the things on the list of things that Bucky had stuffed into his pocket. And it’s not so much refreshing as it is _nice_ to see Bucky excited about something. Louis can tell that he’s seeing everything the same way Louis is, with fresh eyes and an open mind, everything new new new. 

And it’s all so wonderful. They’ve seen countless landmarks from the sky as they descended into the cities they’d temporarily call home, but actually _seeing_ them is a whole new experience. Bucky acts as a tour guide, reading fun facts off of the pamphlets he’s picked up and taking them to a new part of the city with an actual map. Louis wasn’t sure people still knew how to use those, with phones and all, but Bucky doesn’t have a phone, so he supposes it makes sense.

“Can’t believe I’ve never been here before.” He runs a thumb over a lock on the chain link fence that spans the bridge. “Been to France, sure, but not like this.”

Louis sees the moment the memories start to creep up, but Bucky doesn’t let them take him. He just squeezes his eyes shut tight and lets Louis nudge up under his chin. It passes, and he shoves his left hand back in his pocket from where it had been gripping the steel railing hard. There’s a handprint there now, but Louis thinks it’s fair enough that he gets to leave his mark like everyone else. 

 

Everything feels different for those few days that they’re able to act like they’re just tourists. It feels… normal. But life seems to catch up to Bucky in ways that Louis doesn’t think are fair, and their bubble bursts quicker than either of them would like.

It’s all over the news, so it’s pretty hard to miss even though they don’t have a television in their apartment on the Seine. It’s in Bucky’s newspaper, and in the eight others that he brings back with him on the morning the story breaks, coffee forgotten. They’re bundled in his arms and he drops them on the floor in an unceremonious mess that Louis knows Bucky would never normally make. He spends four hours sifting through the news, cutting out parts he finds important and rearranging the snippets in an order that Louis doesn’t understand. Luckily for Louis, the discarded and crumpled up pieces of paper make for a lot of fun. 

Bucky says something about _Steve_ and _Stark_ and he looks a little frantic reading over the headlines he’s situated below the photos of what are probably of Steve and Stark.

“C’mon,” he says, after he’s finished cleaning up the mess of paper. “Let’s go see what’s going on.”

Bucky takes him to the shop down the road that has televisions in the window. They’re usually playing sports games, but right now each screen is bombarded with live footage and images of a floating city. Louis would think it was cool if Bucky’s expression wasn’t so panicked. His reflection in the glass is the same look he gets when he wakes up in the middle of the night. Louis wants to ask him what’s wrong, wants to know what’s got Bucky so scared.

The tag line below the reporter reads _Avengers And Civilians Trapped On Rising Sokovia._ Louis doesn’t really know what Avengers are or where Sokovia is but the damage that’s being done to the city in the footage looks _very bad_. The only time he can immediately recall something of that scale is when the sky fell down in D.C. He’d had to run as far as he could, and he thinks that people might have died. It took a long time for it all to be even a little bit cleaned up, and even then he was still hesitant about returning to the park. He was so relieved when he saw that woman again, so happy that nothing happened to her and that she could still feed him bacon bits. Louis still wishes that he could’ve helped. Thinking about it leaves him with the horrible memories of that day and an echo of that feeling from whatever happened in New York that he doesn’t quite remember.

Louis mewls sadly from Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky gives him soft pats with his metal arm to comfort him. It’s enough.

“It’s going to be okay. They’ll be okay.”

He sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than Louis. Bucky tries to sleep that night, but he wakes up with Steve’s name on his lips and doesn’t try it again until they leave Paris.

✪

_Barcelona, winter of 2015, December_

Barcelona is fairy lights and snowflakes and hot chocolate. Louis isn’t allowed to have any hot chocolate just like he’s not allowed to have tea, but his tongue is thankful for it even if his taste buds aren’t. 

“Quit pouting,” Bucky tells him as he decorates the tiny tree in the corner of the room. It’s just taller than Louis. “It’s not _that_ good.”

The way he gulps down the rest of his cup isn’t exactly convincing. 

He flops back against the wall when he finishes fidgeting with the tree. It’s white, unlike most Christmas trees that Louis has seen, and Bucky has managed to make it look delicately festive even without lights. Red and gold tinsel stand out against the white, surrounded tiny ornaments that Bucky picked up on their way back from Sagrada Família. Bucky hasn’t stopped smiling since he bought the tree. It’s the smallest of smiles, but it’s more than Louis has gotten out of him in the past few months. 

 

Louis likes the still silence of the aftermath of a snowstorm. It’s much better than the harsh winds of the _during_ that Chicago so dutifully provided. Bucky mumbles something about no one being out after a storm and bundles up. (He doesn’t really need to, but people give him weird looks if he walks around in below freezing temperatures in just his hoodie.) He puts Louis on his shoulders and wrenches open the frozen front door. There’s only about a foot of snow on the ground, and Bucky steps through it easily. When they reach a park, miraculously empty, Bucky lets Louis climb down into his lap and strokes at his back while the cold air washes over them. It’s oddly refreshing, and Louis can’t really get cold with Bucky’s furnace of a body beneath him, and the way the snow absorbs any sounds that might come through makes it feel like they’re in their own little bubble again.

Bucky sighs. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Louis wishes he could point out that no one ever really knows what they’re doing. Life is about faking it until you make it and Louis thinks that Bucky is doing just fine, probably better than he should be if the caliber of his nightmares are anything to go by.

Louis tilts his head all the way back to look at Bucky. His sad face isn’t as sad when it’s upside down. 

“I wish I could go home. Or go back. Or had died when I hit that fucking water. This… this is such shit.”

Louis doesn’t know what to say, or what to think. Bucky usually keeps this kind of stuff for his notebooks. Louis suspects this is the kind of thing he fills the orange tab with. The one right behind his nightmares. The terrible things he thinks during the day that haunt him just as much as the things that rattle him in his sleep.

Louis knows just what to do, though, and he stretches up to tuck his head into Bucky’s neck until he stops feeling so tense. They both sigh at the same moment all the fight leaves Bucky, and it’s like sinking into the snow.

Bucky laughs. It’s more of a sad, self-deprecating huff than anything else. 

“Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 

They’re sat in the middle of the room and Bucky’s holding a tiny present in front of Louis’ face. It’s wrapped oh-so-neatly in green paper with a bright red bow on top. 

“Is the bow too much?” 

They stare at each other for a long moment. 

“This is for you, by the way.” Bucky lets Louis sniff at it for a moment before gently pulling open the wrapping. “You don’t have to wear it, and I know you haven’t always been domestic so you might not even let me put on you. But I thought it’d be nice.”

Out of the paper comes a woven silver collar with one little red star on it and it looks a lot like Bucky’s metal arm. Louis perks up at the sight of it. He’s never had a collar before. He’s never even stayed with any one human for so long before, and the fact that Bucky wants to make it permanent? That warms Louis’ tiny thumping feline heart. 

“It’s not because I own you or anything. I just wanted to celebrate. Get in the Christmas spirit. And it’s not like I have anyone else to spoil, y'know? What d’ya say?”

Louis didn’t think they were going to celebrate, mostly because as much as Louis loves gifts, he can’t get Bucky presents and that wouldn’t be fair. All he can do is nudge the collar with his nose and purr as loudly as he can muster. Bucky fastens it carefully around Louis’ neck and Louis can tell that he’s trying extra hard to be gentle and in control. It works, and Louis would cry if he could, real human tears and everything. He settles for licking Bucky’s nose for five whole minutes.

✪

_New York, spring of 2016, March_

New York brings quiet. It’s the loudest city they’ve been to by far, but the amount of words that Bucky says from the time they board their flight to the time they land in JFK is close to none. Louis gets startled by cars honking and people yelling the moment they step out of their taxi. But Bucky was quiet on the plane as they watched the city come into view, the buildings so tall and elegant that Louis thinks it would’ve rendered anyone speechless anyway. His breath stuttered as they crossed over the Brooklyn Bridge and the skyline collapsed into itself behind them. 

“This is my home,” he whispered to Louis, like it was a secret that he didn’t want the cab driver to hear. “Or it was, a really long time ago.”

That’s all he says, even as they’re settling into an abandoned house deep in Brooklyn next to a park. They trek through a bit of fallen trees and overgrown weeds, but Bucky seems to know exactly where it is, eyes lighting up like he’s pleased that his memory had served him right.

It takes Bucky a few days to gather his bearings enough to bring Louis out for proper exploring. He guides them through the streets effortlessly, making it clear that he knows his way around. But his eyes are more distant than Louis has seen in a while. He’s definitely not present, and doesn’t start describing anything in the way that someone visiting their hometown would. There are no stories, no reminiscent landmarks. Not even a _this is where I had my first kiss_. Instead he looks around, staring far off, and Louis is sure that he’s seeing things very differently from the way they look now. Each new bit of scenery sends him retreating further back into himself, back into the “really long time ago” that he mentioned in the cab. 

It resonates then that this isn’t the Brooklyn that Bucky knows– knew. Every twist and turn is full of houses that weren’t there before, shops and empty lots in places that aren’t familiar. New technology has cropped up on every corner, and it must not even feel like home anymore. Louis doesn’t know exactly how old Bucky is, but if the way he barely recognizes his hometown at all is any indication, he must be older than he looks. And all of this must feel like some far off world that he could have only dreamed of as a kid. 

Louis wishes he could ask Bucky what his Brooklyn was like, if he preferred it to the one that’s unfolding right before his eyes. He wishes he could ask for the stories that he knows Bucky holds in his head and his heart, no matter how hard it might be for him to recall them. His Brooklyn might be worlds away but it’s still part of who he is. It still might be nice to share those memories with someone. 

Bucky takes them to the riverside park where a huge bridge spans the water overhead. It's the Brooklyn Bridge, he realizes, the one they drove across. It’s the most beautiful thing that Louis has ever seen.

“At least that hasn’t changed.”

Louis’ head turns fast, startled at the first words that Bucky has spoken in days.

“Oh don’t look so surprised, I could only keep a lid on it for so long.”

He feeds Louis bits of his sandwich, the cool breeze from the water ruffling his hair as he does. He looks so sad and that just won’t do. Louis steps on Bucky’s thigh so he can stretch to reach his face. He gives him a few licks for comfort – he’s finally clean shaven again – before head butting him. 

Louis hopes that Bucky understands what he means. _Don’t be sad. No matter what it looks like it’s still your home._

Bucky smiles a little bit, which is better, and it’s the most genuine one that Louis has gotten from him yet. He digs around his backpack for his Polaroid camera, and when the photo of the park prints, he tapes it to a fresh page in the green tab of his notebook. Then he takes a photo of Louis with the bridge in the background and puts it in the front of the book. Bucky writes _Brooklyn_ _\- Home_ in big bold letters beneath both of them. 

The next day they ride the subway all the way to Coney Island and Bucky takes them on the Wonder Wheel. The ride workers start to tell him that he’s not allowed to bring a cat on with him but the glare he fixes them with seems to keep the words firmly trapped their mouths. Bucky doesn’t do that often, usually opting for being overly kind and charming his way out of the rules. But Brooklyn has clearly struck a nerve with him if he’s decided to go for the intimidation tactic.

They spend a while there, until the silence starts to make them restless. Bucky steals another car but Louis thinks they’re running out of places to go. 

✪

_Bucharest, spring of 2016, May_

The apartment isn’t much compared to the one in Paris– which felt like a dream – but it’s definitely not as bad as the times when they couldn’t find anywhere to stay at all. But as they both take their time sniffing around, going through their respective mental checklists, it seems up for the challenge of being the place they can call home for now. 

After Bucky has rearranged their secondhand furniture to his liking, Louis watches patiently as he tapes newspapers to the windows. Standard procedure. Little bits of pre-folded tape hang from his metal fingers, his tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration. He’s still a little sluggish from the onslaught of memories that New York inevitably triggered, so it takes a bit longer than usual. Louis, not for the first time, wishes he could help. 

“Do you like it here? I think it’s alright, all things considered.”

It’s the first thing he’s said since they got on the plane, so Louis humors him and looks around even though he already knows his answer. In spite of the way the tiles are falling off the wall above the sink, and how creaky the floorboards are under Louis’ paws, he knows it’ll make a good home for them. Bucky wouldn’t have brought them here otherwise. There’s a perfect loose panel where Bucky hides a getaway pack, and absolutely no sign that anyone will come looking to live here.

Louis purrs, and Bucky looks pleased when he does. He hasn’t smiled like that since before what Bucky refers to as _Ultron_ , so Louis purrs some more.

It’s easy to fall into Bucky’s new routine. He tries to sleep during the day, sometimes manages an hour or two before he startles the both of them awake, but he keeps trying. Louis climbs onto his chest each time, attempting to help Bucky calm his breathing. It works for the most part, and Bucky usually rests his metal hand on Louis’ back, feels his breathing, tries to match it. Louis can feel when all the fight leaves him, when he settles into the mattress and his arm stops humming menacingly.

He starts bringing home fresh fruit and actual cat food that comes in a can, finally trying to make use of the bowls he had bought all those months ago. Louis refuses to eat it for a few days, and it makes him sick when he finally resigns to Bucky’s sad eyes and his telling him that it’s better than bacon. It’s not better than bacon, but he does get used to it after three days of Bucky apologizing and giving him treats for eating it. Most of all, it makes Bucky really happy, and that’s really all Louis can ask for. 

Sometimes Bucky takes Louis out for some fresh air and Bucky will introduce him to people whose routines match up with his. They’ll scratch Louis’ head and coo at him in Romanian, and even if Louis doesn’t understand, he appreciates the attention all the same, knowing that Bucky will thank them for him.

Bucky is different in Bucharest. His breathing comes easier, the tension is his shoulders starts to melt. It’s almost contagious; Louis is sure that neither of them have felt this safe in years. Since before they met, even. Their own little bubble has fashioned itself around them once more, and for as light as Louis feels with it, he hopes Bucky does too.

There’s nothing conventionally special or beautiful about the part of Bucharest that they’ve taken refuge in. There’s no breathtaking skylines or shimmering water. They can barely walk half a mile without Bucky nearly being hit by a bicyclist. But there’s something so special and beautiful about the way Bucky carries himself here. There’s still remnants of his hesitance, still flashbacks of the life he used to be trapped in. Despite all the reasons that they’re holed up in an apartment with newspapers on the windows, Bucky does less looking over his shoulder. His frantic looks usually come from being overwhelmed by crowds for long periods of time or from hearing a loud noise too suddenly. Which is more than understandable. But he’s not so on edge anymore, and the entries in his notebook have become less hasty. He’s actually begun to read over them more carefully, trying to piece together everything he wrote while it was still coming back to him. To Louis, it seems like the Bucky that he actually remembers being is more present than it has been in a long time, and while he’s still an open wound trying to heal, perhaps that’s progress in itself. 

On the night of the two month anniversary of them moving in, Bucky kicks off his running shoes and allows Louis to climb into his lap as settles on the – _actual_ – mattress. He scratches behind Louis’ ears and rubs his belly and hits all the right spots because he’s Bucky and he’s the best. Louis falls asleep right there, purring as hard as he can and trying to let Bucky know how happy he is here with him. 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post](https://nightwideopen.tumblr.com/post/181082276929)


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